Sun on the Water
by Shy scorpion
Summary: A collection of little drabbles, vignettes, and assorted K through T rated miscellany for Pirates of the Caribbean. Please read, review and enjoy.
1. My Weak Woman's Heart

_Authors Notes: This is my first attempt at a PotC story and my first attempt at a drabble in any fandom, so please read and review and try to be nice. Enjoy!_

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The Black Pearl sank beneath the waves, wrapped in the Kraken's clammy embrace. The tattered remains of her crew looked on from the longboat, to shell shocked to speak. Elizabeth tried to keep her face still, but inside something was breaking. _Help me_, something inside her was crying; _help me please_. She had done what was necessary, she refused to be sorry. She tried to use her reason, not her weak woman's heart. _ I can't bear the pain, help me please._ She tried not to listen as they made for land, she must shut her ears to it. _I must._


	2. The Cabin Boy

_Author's Notes: Drabble try #2. I don't own PotC, enjoy!_

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The cabin boy lay shaking in his hammock, clutching his shoulder and doing an admirable job of not crying. His blood soaked tunic clung to his bony torso, but gapped open at the long, deep gash on his shoulder. Jack Sparrow took up a roll of bandage and went to help. He tried to tear the bloody shirt away but the boy pushed him off violently.

"Don't!"

He watched the boy, and noticed the way his arms crossed over his chest. He smiled.

"Don't worry, love." He approached again and began to dress the wound, "your secret's safe with me."


	3. Names

There was general admiration for the little cabin boy's resilience, two-and-twenty stitches and nary a tear. Brave too, a month at sea and already clashing swords. The men drank to his bettering health, and proposed to give him a proper pirate's name.

"To Redshirt- say, what's your name lad?"

A moment's hesitation. "George."

"A toast! To Redshirt George!"

"Aye!" The men cried in unison.

Some hours later Jack found him changing lamps with one arm.

"Good job mate." He said, dropped his voice. "What _is_ your name?"

A furtive glance, a sheepish smile, and murmured reply, "That's Alice to you."


	4. Marks

Red Shirt George was small for his age, and to thin. So said the men. For all that he was strong enough, worked hard and never complained. Well enough then! They said, and let him be.

He lived aboard ship for four years. The men taught him to drink, and swear and fight with cutlass, pistol, hatchet and knife – anything he could find. He didn't speak much, and then in a hoarse whisper, as though his voice didn't work properly.

Over time he grew tall. He took to wearing a gentleman's shirtwaist over his tattered shirt. The men laughed. He smiled and took all in stride.

First mate Sparrow took a liking to the boy. Taught him a way with the lady's of port, and took him for his first tattoo; two crossed swords on his chest, just under the collarbone, over his heart.

In this way the boy learned that any pain is worth bearing, and there are some marks that will never come clean.

But time moves, and sea and friendships and men change. And some marks will never come clean.

Jack Sparrow became a captain of his own ship, and found a treasure that he would not name. They docked in Tortuga for repairs and supplies. They took aboard many new men. Rough men with savage faces. Jack left the ship for an evening, and took Red Shirt with him – to the Faithful Bride, they said.

But when the captain returned, he did so alone. Red Shirt George had found better quarter on another ship, he said. He opted to stay in the local waters, to be near a certain lady in town. The next day all was done. They sailed with the out-going tide, and George was not with them.

Around this time a new bar maid came to the Faithful Bride. Her hair was curly, blonde and short. Her face was thin, but handsome enough in a dimly lit tavern. Soon the customers took to calling her "the nun" because her dress had a high neck. She was pleasant enough, quiet and good with a pistol – so she got by.

Because you see that some marks never come clean, and some women can sit by and wait. Any pain is worth bearing for a chance to be free.


	5. Under a Black Flag

Alice Walker stood in the front doorway of her little house. The sun was rising over the edge of the sea. The water was strangely flat, mirror bright and blue-grey as slate. She would normally have been out in the garden at this hour, gathering eggs. Something was different about today. Something was on the wind, as though a storm were brewing. A tattoo, old and slightly faded, over her heart, above her breasts; prickled slightly. It was as though the sea were calling to her. A strange song, ringing through her bones, through the trees, and she found herself wondering. Was there any ship at anchor, still running under a black flag?

What was that all about? She thought. What was this strange feeling on the air? That it made her wish to return to the sea? She turned from the risen sun, looked back behind her, into the house. A table, a chair, a bedstead -- all the furnishings of her one-room cottage -- a few utensils, and a rusted sword over the back door. Everything she owned. What did she have to stay for?

Two days latter the same cottage was empty. The bedclothes, pots, pans, the good knife, the spare dress, the chair and the two fat hens had gone down the road to old Widow Winshire. Alice Walker was gone, and with her the old cutlass from over the back door.

It would seem that she left none to soon. Not less that a day after she disappeared, the East India Trading Company sailed in and took over the port.


	6. Maelstrom

Awe is a peculiarity of the young.

Or so he'd always thought.

But then, he'd never been face-to-face with the unbound fury of the sea.

Barbossa had known what Tia Dalma really was after she'd brought him back from the other side. What he hadn't known was the full extent of her powers.

The maelstrom opened before him, a churning, swirling mass of storm black and foam white; a great beastly mouth, drawing all down into the crushing dark of the deep sea.

He fought the tiller with all his strength, and knew very clearly that he too could feel that strange mixture of wonder...and fear.


End file.
